Читать книгу: «The Flood», страница 2
2
February 2017
14 Years Later
It took Daniela three hours to wade into Stonecrop, and, by then, her temper was as bleak as the weather. She’d almost turned back when she’d reached the bridge on the Hackett road and found it already awash. Below the bridge, the River Bade was still rising, surging up to the metal arches, muddy brown, swollen, tangled with branches that shot past at worrying speed. Gathering her nerve, Daniela had edged across the bridge. The force of the water made the metal handrail thrum beneath her fingers. Off to her left, a few hundred yards downstream, she could see what was left of the old fishing platform she and her sisters used to play on as kids. Only the necks of its stubby supports remained sticking out of the mud. The ancient, upside-down rowboat was still there, a moss-coloured hillock pulled up away from the bank.
Once past the bridge, the going didn’t improve. In places, the road was flooded so deep she had to clamber along the muddy verges, clinging to branches in the hedgerow. Her jacket wasn’t nearly as waterproof as she’d been led to believe, and the chill dampness that’d started at her collar and sleeves had seeped through to her skin. Water had overflowed her boots. Her socks squelched with every step. And she still had another two miles of flooded roads to slog through before she reached her home village.
Daniela was sure there must’ve been dry, sunny days during her childhood, but in her memory, Stonecrop was always wet, always overcast, always unwelcoming. And now it was partially underwater too.
Late winter rains had swelled the rivers on either since of the village to twice their usual sizes, burst their banks, and turned Stonecrop into a giant boating lake. At least now the rain had subsided to a sullen drizzle.
Daniela paused at the top of the high street – the only street, really – to light a cigarette. It took her three attempts to spark her lighter.
Television footage of flooded towns always looked surreal. Water lapping at sandbagged doors. Residents in wellies. Cars submerged to their wheel-arches. Hanging baskets dangling serenely from lamp-posts like botanical lifeboats. It was so unreal to Daniela, to return to a place she knew so well, and find it like this. A kind of jarring nostalgia.
Her eyes sought out the details that’d changed. A plastic sign had replaced the metal one above the Corner Shoppe; the estate agent’s had been torn down to leave a gaping hole, and the antiques emporium that her dad had once co-owned was abandoned, its windows filmed with dust. Out of three businesses in the village, only one had survived.
But beneath the surface, the heart of the village was unaltered. Stonecrop maintained that quaint, chocolate-box appearance, like it was illustrating a magazine article about house prices in the rural midlands. The ruddy brickwork exteriors had seen few renovations. It was as if a lid had come down on Stonecrop when Daniela left, sealing everything in stasis. She wondered what she’d hoped to find. An untouched childhood memory? The entire village razed in an unreported hurricane?
Most of the community had been evacuated, but a few stubborn residents remained. Halfway along the street, where a natural dip caused a deep pool, a group of people were shoring up a garden wall. Two men in fishermen’s waders judiciously applied sandbags. A middle-aged woman – Margaret McKearney, Daniela recognised with a jolt, who owned the Shoppe and was apparently impervious to ageing – stood with her skirts hiked up to show off her flowery wellies, while she distributed cups of tea from a thermos.
And at the far edge of the pool, supervising the work while eating a chocolate digestive, was Sergeant Stephanie Cain.
She too had changed little in the seven years since Daniela had left. Maybe a touch heavier around the middle and below the eyes, a bit older and more tired, with the weight of the extra years on her shoulders. She’d always been big and broad, like their father. The police vest made her look dumpy. Daniela’s eyes flicked to the kit on the vest – handcuffs, incapacitant spray, torch, extendable baton. Prepared for everything.
Stephanie Cain was comfy in her role of village police officer, up to her shins in floodwater, with her police-issue waders and her chocolate biscuit. She’d found her place. Daniela felt a pang of jealousy.
Steeling herself, she waded towards the group.
Stephanie spotted her. Daniela watched the play of emotions across the officer’s face: polite alertness until she recognised Daniela, then surprise, disbelief … ah, and anger. That came an instant before the sergeant’s expression closed up like a door slamming.
At least now Daniela didn’t have to wonder if Stephanie was still upset.
Daniela stopped and waited. She didn’t want to interact with anyone other than her sister.
Stephanie took a circuitous route around the flooded dip in the road. Daniela discarded the butt of her cigarette into the water, and the sergeant’s eyes flicked to it. Her annoyance gave Daniela a petty satisfaction. In a perverse way, Daniela was looking forward to this fight.
Stephanie halted ten feet away. Like she didn’t trust herself to get too close.
‘This road’s closed,’ Stephanie said.
Despite everything, Daniela laughed. ‘Is that how you’ll greet me? You’ve got a million things you’d rather say.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘See, that’s what I’d expect. Want to maybe say I’ve got some nerve coming back home?’
Sergeant Cain’s mouth drew into a thin, angry line. The tips of her ears reddened.
‘Come on,’ Daniela said, still smiling. ‘Let’s sit down and talk, yeah?’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Too busy for family? That’s a shocking state of affairs, Steph.’
Stephanie swore under her breath. She glanced at the other villagers, who’d noticed Daniela’s arrival and were peering over. The two men were whispering. Margaret looked like she’d seen a ghost.
‘All right,’ Stephanie said. ‘We can talk. Quickly. I’ve got work to do.’
‘The water can supervise itself for ten minutes, Steph.’ Daniela cast a long look around the flooded village, then smiled at her big sister. ‘So, how about the pub? Is it still open, or have the ducks taken over?’
The Crossed Swords stood at the junction between the high street and Winterbridge Farm Road. The land there was slightly higher, leaving the pub currently marooned on a tiny island some hundred yards wide. But it hadn’t escaped unscathed. The basement was flooded, and water lapped the back door. A defensive barrier of sandbags blocked the entrance to the car park. The building looked like a castle with an unruly moat.
Daniela stepped over the sandbags ungainly in her wellies and damp jeans. A welcome light burned in the windows of the Crossed Swords. Daniela was more than ready to be inside in the warm.
‘Does Chris Roberts still own this place?’ Daniela asked.
‘Yes.’
That was all the conversation Daniela had coaxed out of Stephanie so far. To be fair, Daniela hadn’t said much either. Everything she had to say needed careful wording. Otherwise she could ruin everything. Again.
Above the door, trailing wisteria partially obscured the sign depicting two painted swords on a black background. Fat green leaves dripped water onto the flagstones. Pockets of flood debris dirtied the corners of the doorway.
It felt strange to walk on dry ground after so long wading. Daniela felt lighter, less tired. The door opened with a wash of warm air. Daniela wondered whether to take her boots off, but, judging by the carpet, the other patrons hadn’t bothered.
A few things had changed since Daniela’s last visit. A partition wall had been knocked through from the main lounge into the gentleman’s bar at the back. Plasma screens hung in pride of place. But the décor, a combination of muted browns and vibrant oranges, looked so much like home that a lump formed in Daniela’s throat.
A familiar face was behind the bar as well. ‘Morning, Sergeant,’ Chris Roberts called. ‘Not here on business, are you?’
The landlord was a slight man with a receding hairline and square glasses. He looked like he’d wandered behind the bar by accident. But his constant bemusement meant no one could ever dislike him. At present, he was seated near the cash register with a newspaper spread out on the bar.
His head tilted as he peered around Stephanie, blinking to focus. When he recognised Daniela, he put a hand to his chest in over-dramatic surprise.
‘Daniela?’ he asked. ‘Young Daniela Cain? Now, is that really you?’
Daniela waved in acknowledgement. ‘Hey, Chris. How’s business?’
‘All washed up.’ Chris cackled. ‘You’d think everyone would want to drown their sorrows, but most of them have scarpered. All my precious customers.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘So, what can I get you, youngster? Bottled lager only, I’m afraid. The pumps are off. The bitter’s on a hand-pump though, if you fancy.’
Daniela deferred to Stephanie, but the officer had already sat down by the window, where she resolutely faced forwards. She took off her hat, placed it on the table top, then clasped her hands. Her black hair was pulled back into an austere bun.
‘Pint of bitter for me,’ Daniela said to Chris. ‘Better make it a coffee for the big lady.’
Chris nodded as he rose from his chair. ‘You’d think normal rules about drinking at work could be suspended, given the flooding. But she’s a stickler.’
Daniela searched her pockets and came up with enough change to cover two drinks, just. She’d brought only limited funds and had to be careful. She eyed the price list while Chris fiddled with the coffee maker at the back of the bar. That was another thing that’d changed.
She glanced at the lights above the bar. ‘I see the power’s still on.’
‘More or less,’ Chris said. ‘They told us we only needed to shut the electricity off if the building flooded out. Since that’s not happened, I figured we’ll leave it on for now. Plus, we’ve got the emergency generator out back if things get desperate. I reckon we can stay open so long as the toilets still flush. That’s the important thing, right? So, are you staying, or is this a flying visit?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Daniela avoided looking at her sister. ‘It kinda depends. Might be a day, or a couple of days.’
‘Well, if you need somewhere to bunk, we’ve got rooms. Can even give you mates’ rates, since we’re not technically open for staying guests.’ Chris lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Just don’t tell the rozzers, yeah?’
Daniela returned his grin. ‘I’ll think about it. Thanks, man.’
It felt good to talk to the landlord again. It was as if Daniela had only been gone a few weeks, which was bittersweet. So much had changed for her.
Daniela took the drinks to the table and sat opposite her sister. Stephanie had switched her gaze so she stared out at the flooded streets. She could’ve been thinking about anything. Beneath her chin was a crescent-shaped scar, where she’d been hit with a golf club, years ago.
Daniela sipped her drink then pulled off her boots and turned them upside down in the vain hope they’d dry out. She considered taking her socks off but thought that might be impolite. She circled her weak left ankle, which always ached when it was damp.
‘This place was better before the smoking ban,’ Daniela said. She sniffed. ‘All you smell now is cheap bleach and old alcohol.’
‘That was ten years ago,’ Stephanie said. ‘You weren’t old enough to be in here then.’
‘When did that ever stop us?’
At last Stephanie looked at her. ‘Get to the point,’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to be working.’
‘We’re all supposed to be somewhere. If I had any choice I wouldn’t be here. Not right now, anyways.’
‘Why are you here?’
Daniela hesitated. ‘Well now. What explanation would you like? I can—’
‘The truth would be a nice change.’
‘That goes without saying. But what variant of truth? I can give you a tear-jerking breakdown, or a bald statement of facts, or—’
‘You need money.’
Daniela winced. ‘Okay, we’re going for stark, unvarnished truth.’
‘I’m not giving you money, Dani.’
It’d been years since anyone called her Dani. Heat flushed her face. ‘It’s not as bad as you assume,’ she said carefully. ‘I don’t want your money.’
‘So, why’re you wasting my time?’
‘I want my money, Steph.’ Daniela sipped her drink. ‘The money Dad left me. That shouldn’t be problem, right?’
Stephanie eyed the cup of coffee on the table. Her need for a warm drink was apparently less urgent than her wish to stay angry with her younger sister, and she pushed the cup away.
‘You can’t have it,’ Stephanie said.
‘I understand there’ll be procedures. Paperwork. It’ll take time. What I’m hoping is—’
‘You can’t have it. There’s no money, Dani.’
Daniela’s smile slipped. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Dad left you a share of the house.’ Stephanie clasped her hands on the table again. A police officer’s pose; demonstrating calm, concern, patience. ‘Once it’s been sold, you’ll get some of the money.’
‘It’s not sold yet? Steph, it was two years ago.’
‘Three. There didn’t seem any hurry to sell.’
Daniela sat back. It was a disappointment, but not unexpected. If the house had been sold and the money released, someone would’ve told her. ‘So, what? It’s sitting empty?’
‘No.’
‘No? C’mon. If I have to drag every answer out of you—’
‘Auryn’s living there.’
Daniela’s eyes widened. ‘Auryn’s here?’
‘She was. She left a few days ago, before the floods got bad.’
‘God, I thought she’d got out long ago. Isn’t she a barrister in London?’
‘Solicitor.’
‘So, what happened? Why’d she come back?’
Stephanie paused. ‘Some kind of breakdown,’ she said. ‘I said she could come home, since no one was using the house, while she got her head together.’
Daniela’s fingers tightened around the glass. Despite everything, she still felt protective of Auryn, the baby of the family, who’d always been quiet and withdrawn, especially compared to the rest of them. Stephanie and Franklyn had looked out for Auryn in their own way, but it’d been Daniela who was closest to her. For a time, anyway.
‘Glad the old house is still in the family,’ Daniela said, with what she hoped was a sincere smile. ‘Lots of memories in that place. I’m surprised you’re not living there as well.’
‘Why would I go back?’
‘Same reason you never left Stonecrop. It’s comfortable and reassuring. Are you still living next to the police station in Hackett or have you found somewhere a bit more … separate from your work?’
Stephanie gave her an unfriendly look. ‘Listen, until the house gets sold there’s no money for you. So, you can take your sob story elsewhere.’
‘That’s harsh.’ Daniela adopted a thoughtful look. ‘But there’s other money, right? Dad’s investments. His savings. You got the pay-out from the insurance company—’
‘That’s nothing to do with you.’
Daniela leaned forwards. ‘I’m asking for a favour, Steph. I know what you’re like – you’ve got that money stashed in an account somewhere, nice and safe. I need—’
‘You need a slap. A favour?’ Stephanie laughed without humour. ‘The best favour you could’ve done would be staying gone. What do you need money for anyway? Drugs? Loan sharks? The old ladies at Payday-Cash-4-U coming to break your legs?’
‘I’m not asking for anything that isn’t mine.’
‘Technically you are.’
‘It’d just be a loan, all right?’ Daniela resisted the urge to shout. ‘A small amount to tide me over. Once the sale of the house goes through, I’ll see you right.’
Stephanie sat back and folded her arms. ‘How much?’ she asked.
Daniela moistened her lips. ‘Well, I’m due eighty-five grand once the house is sold …’
‘The house isn’t worth that much anymore.’
That sounded like a lie, but Daniela let it pass. ‘So how about five thousand? That’s not unreasonable, is it?’
Stephanie was already laughing. ‘You’re hilarious, Dani,’ she said. ‘Not unreasonable.’ Again, she shook her head. ‘Perhaps if you’d picked up the phone and asked, I might’ve paid five thousand to avoid seeing your face.’
Ouch.
‘I tried calling,’ Daniela said. ‘You didn’t answer.’
‘And can you blame me?’
‘I’ve never asked you for anything.’
‘You’ve never given much either.’ Stephanie stood and retrieved her hat. ‘Well, this has been a barrel of laughs, but I’ve work to do.’
‘Sure. Have fun policing the sandbags. I’m sure it’s giving you job satisfaction.’
‘I’m surprised you know the meaning of the term.’ Stephanie tipped her hat. ‘See you in another seven years.’
As Stephanie turned away, Daniela asked, ‘Did you ever find her?’
‘Who?’
‘Mum.’ Daniela studied her sister’s face. ‘I know you and Franklyn were looking for her.’
Stephanie’s expression closed up again. ‘We stopped looking a long time ago.’
After Stephanie left, Daniela sat by the window for a while. She drank her pint slowly, not wanting to brave the cold outside.
‘Can I get you a refill, youngster?’ Chris called from the bar.
Daniela shook her head and finished the dregs. As an afterthought, she drank Stephanie’s untouched coffee as well. It was cold and bitter. ‘I’d better get moving. Thanks anyway.’
‘So, have you decided if you’re staying or not? I can get the missus to make up a room.’
Daniela felt despondent enough to wade the five miles back to Hackett and catch the first bus she saw. But she hated giving up.
And, of course, there might be another way she could get her money.
She shook her head, smiled. ‘It’s okay. I think I might go home instead.’
3
In the afternoon the sky darkened again with low-bellied rainclouds, ready to shed their weight at the slightest provocation.
Daniela hadn’t anticipated how cut off the flooded village was from the rest of the world. Only a few houses were occupied, and the light from their windows was weak and tremulous, as if aware that the power could die at any second. Looking at the surrounding fields, with the pylons standing in a foot of water, Daniela was surprised the lights were still on, but, according to Chris in the pub, that was usual unless the substation itself was underwater.
A landslip to the west had felled the phone lines. Daniela kept checking the faint signal on her mobile. Amazing that a little rainfall could isolate a whole village.
Daniela ate lunch in the pub – the kitchen was closed, but Chris grilled a fair panini – sent a few text messages, then bundled herself up in her less-than-waterproof clothes. After an hour by the fire in the lounge, her boots were only a little damp inside, her jacket pleasantly toasty.
The warmth didn’t survive for long. By the time she’d slogged along the back street to the other end of town she felt the cold again. A light drizzle flattened her hair and chilled her exposed skin. She pulled up her hood and waded on.
The back lane took her around the main street, because she had no desire to chat to the group who were sandbagging the gardens. She’d wanted to get in and out of town without talking to anyone except Stephanie.
Daniela ground her teeth. Stubborn, awkward Steph. It’d been a pleasant daydream, to imagine her sister would hand over a wad of cash without blinking. She might at least have listened.
Daniela shook the thought away, set her shoulders, and kept walking.
The old family house was a half-mile outside town, along a narrow lane flanked with high hedgerows. As a child, Daniela had walked that road twice a day, every day, since she was old enough to walk. It held a familiarity like nowhere else in the world. Every footstep felt like a journey home. It wasn’t entirely comforting.
The lane rose and fell with the undulations of the land, too slight at normal times to notice, now dotted with tarmac islands that stood proud of the water. In places Daniela was forced to wade. She was careful not to flood her boots again. She also stayed clear of the ditches that edged the road; hidden sinks at least three feet deep.
As she left the village behind, the road wound into the woods. The hedgerows gave way to barbed wire fences. Slender elms and beeches crowded the skyline, their bare branches scratching as they moved with the wind, their roots swamped in mud and water. A rippling breeze scooted fallen leaves across the pools.
At another time, Daniela would’ve abandoned the road, ducking under the fence to follow the hidden pathways of the wood. Part of her yearned to rediscover the secret places where she and her sisters had played as children. The hollows where they’d made dens; the winding streams where they’d fished for minnows. Trees for climbing, root-space burrows, hollow deadwoods …
She paused to light a cigarette. It’s gone. Even if it’s still there, it’s gone. Those places are muddy grot-holes, or piles of branches, or fallen trees. You are definitely too old to grub around in the dirt looking for your misspent youth.
The family home stood in a shallow depression, hidden by trees until the road turned and it was suddenly right there. Daniela had to brace herself before taking those last few steps.
She was prepared for the house to look exactly as she’d left it. She was equally prepared for it to have been modernised and updated beyond recognition. What she hadn’t expected was it to be derelict.
The house was once elegant, with a wide, many-windowed front and arching gables, but neglect had made it slump, like an old lady giving up on life. Its timbers had slouched and its roof was sloughing tiles. The paintwork had peeled and cracked. A broken window was patched with cardboard. The woodpile under the awning had mouldered into a heap of rotting, moss-covered logs.
It didn’t help that rain had flooded the shallow depression, and the house sat in a lake of dirty water.
How did this happen? In Daniela’s memory the old place was alive, awake, with washing lines strung across the garden and toys scattering the front lawn. Now there wasn’t so much as a light in the window or a trail of smoke from the chimney. At some point in the intervening years the old house had died.
She’d thought Stephanie had been evasive about how little the house was worth. Now she saw the truth. No wonder they couldn’t sell the place.
She made her way down to the front gate. It was wedged open by years of rust.
The water was almost a foot deep around the house. Daniela felt her way along the path. Ripples sent reflected light bouncing across the windows. A half-hearted stack of sandbags guarded the front door.
Halfway up the path, Daniela paused to listen. The only sounds came from the wind in the trees and the occasional hoot of a woodpigeon somewhere among the stripped branches.
Daniela reached the front door. A piece of sticky tape across the inoperative doorbell was so old it’d turned opaque and flaky. She leaned over to peer through the sitting-room window. Floodwater had invaded the house as well. The front room was awash, the furniture pushed back against the walls, a few buoyant items floating sluggishly. Obviously the sandbags hadn’t done the trick.
She felt a flush of anger at Auryn. Why hadn’t she made sure the place was watertight before she left? And what about Stephanie? She was right here in town but hadn’t bothered to keep an eye on the house?
The front door was locked. In a village like Stonecrop, people hardly ever locked their houses, except when they went away. But Daniela had kept her key, or rather she had never got rid of it. It was still strung on her keyring like a bad reminder. So long as Auryn hadn’t changed the locks …
She hadn’t. The Yale clicked open. Daniela pushed the door but the water held it closed. She leaned her weight onto the wood and pushed it open a half-inch. It was more than just water behind. More sandbags, possibly. She couldn’t open the door enough to get her foot into the gap.
Giving up, Daniela stepped off the path and made her way around the side of the house. Clouds of muddy water swirled around her wellies. Now she risked not just flooded boots but tripping over the uneven ground into the freezing water. She kicked aside debris with every awkward step.
At the side of the house, the small vegetable garden was now an empty lake. A few tripods of discoloured bamboo canes protruded like totems. Against the far wall, the old beehive was a pile of mushy timbers. Dead leaves sailed like abandoned boats. Eddies of twigs had collected below the window frames. Daniela paused by the window of the utility room next to the kitchen, but the net curtains obscured her view.
There was more neglect at the rear. The back porch lay in a crumpled heap of broken wood and corrugated plastic, as if someone had angrily tossed it aside. The apple tree by the porch was dead. A frayed length of knotted rope still hung from a branch – the makeshift swing that Franklyn and Stephanie had put up.
The back door of the house was also sandbagged. When Daniela tried the handle, she found it locked too. Either that or the door was so tightly wedged it wouldn’t budge. She didn’t have a key. The sash windows on either side were stuck, the wood swollen.
By now she was sick of sploshing around. Despite her best efforts, water had trickled into both boots, and her toes were numb. She was tired and annoyed and already thinking how long it’d take her to get back to the pub.
And, besides all that, a niggle of unease wormed into her stomach. The house felt creepy and abandoned. She felt like an intruder.
She went to the base of the old apple tree that reached up past the roofline. Her eyes automatically traced the route she’d used to climb up and down the trunk a hundred times in her youth. The branches were sturdy and evenly spaced, and it was no more effort to climb than a ladder. Daniela was halfway up before she really stopped to think what she was doing.
The trunk was twisted towards the wall, bringing it close to the window of the old junk room, which Auryn had turned into a separate bedroom for herself when she’d got tired of sharing a space with Daniela. Daniela shimmied along a branch to the window, with only a twinge of vertigo when she glanced down. It’d been a long time since she’d been up a tree. There wasn’t a lot of call for it in adult life.
The window to Auryn’s room was stiff, but, with a certain amount of effort, Daniela slid the wooden sash up.
‘Hello, house,’ she whispered.
She clambered in through the window. Home, she thought, then shoved the idea away. This place hadn’t been home in years. Daniela had assumed she’d never come back, especially after Dad died. In fact, until this morning she’d assumed the place had been sold, and she’d never have to lay eyes on it again. Today was not working out at all as she’d hoped.
She paused with one foot on the carpet and one on the sill. It hadn’t occurred to her how weird it would feel to step into Auryn’s personal space like that. To be honest, the bedroom didn’t look much like Auryn’s anymore. Auryn had always been tidy to a fault, even as a kid. It was strange to see the bed in disarray and clothes scattered across the floor. On a cluttered table next to the bed was a half-empty bottle of wine and a half-full ashtray. Auryn had never been a big drinker, certainly never a smoker.
Daniela took off her boots and carried them so she wouldn’t track mud through the house. On soft feet, she padded across Auryn’s room to the door.
Out on the upstairs landing, there were more obvious signs that the house was neglected. The old wallpaper had turned yellow with age. A faint smell emanated from the drains backing up into the kitchen. The whole place was damp and cold. Daniela tried the light switch but the power was off.
She closed her eyes and breathed. The smell of damp and drains couldn’t entirely overpower the familiar scent of the house. Daniela was grateful the bedroom doors were closed; she couldn’t face seeing Dad’s room. Nothing in the house had been updated, aside from a few new items of furniture. A layer of dust and age covered everything.
The door to the attic room squealed as she pulled it open. It released a waft of cold, stale air, loaded with familiarity. It made Daniela nineteen again. She shuddered.
Up in the converted attic, a window in the gable wall was broken, an inexpertly fixed piece of plyboard keeping out the chill wind. All the furniture had been cleared out and the wide expanse of floorboards was patterned with dust. A leak in the roof had spread patches of damp across the plaster walls.
Daniela wondered if Auryn had emptied the other bedrooms or just this one, which they’d shared as kids. Back then, it’d made sense for her and Auryn, the youngest two, to share a room. They’d been so close in age. As time went on and they’d started wanting their own space, their father promised he would fix up the spare room for Auryn, but it remained as a junk room, with a battered futon shoved in one corner, until Auryn lost patience and moved down there anyway, carving out a neat little space among the clutter.
Daniela stepped into the centre of the room like a sleepwalker. Everything seemed unreal, like pictures in a faded book. Her bed had stood against one wall, with Auryn’s directly opposite, beneath the skylight. An empty wooden shelf was still fixed to the wall beside the window. Back in the day, it’d been laden with Auryn’s paperbacks and emergency supplies – a spare phone charger, AA batteries, and a pen-torch in case of power cuts. Prepared and paranoid, that was Auryn. Even after she’d moved to the spare room, she’d kept a stash of emergency supplies up here.
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